


Peaks and Valleys

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Crossdressing, Dom!Ed, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-sexual established D/s relationship with a healthy dose of S&M, R.A.C.K, Sensory Deprivation, Unnecessarily long, Whipping, general masochism, minor bloodletting, sub/ace!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: Oswald experiences the ups and downs of playtime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic depicts BDSM in the context of a happy, healthy, pre-existing relationship, and there is no sex involved. If you have some pre-conceived notion about how BDSM works due to a book that shall not be named, I implore you to do some research on the subject. It isn’t about abuse and manipulation; it’s about trust and exploration, and this fic delves into that. Thanks for reading <3
> 
> Based on a prompt received at mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com that read; "Hey! If you still take prompts, how about a Nygmobblepot fic where Oswald experiences subdrop after a really intense scene, and Ed takes really good care of him?"

“You're positive you want to do this again? It was... rather intense last time.” Edward's voice was soft with concern as the smaller man led him down the stairs to the 'play' room. 

With a cheerful chuckle, Oswald glanced back at the tall, thin man, giving his hand a squeeze. Despite Edward's inherent inability to read certain cues or understand the way most people worked, he was always incredibly considerate when it involved Oswald. Their connection ran deep. It was something Oswald felt down to what he could only assume was his soul; something that had suffered the slings and arrows of life more heavily then most. It was this connection that allowed the new Mayor to let his guard down with Edward, to allow the level of intimacy they had reached.

“I know it was intense... I'm absolutely positive I want to do it again. The intensity of it helps even me out, in a strange way.” He explained in return, thumb running over the back of Ed's hand.

“Likely due to the release of chemicals in the brain that comes along with any physical activity... Though this is far more extreme.” Edward chuckled; it wasn't the light, giddly chuckle that usually came when he spoke of crime scenes or when Oswald figured out a riddle. This was low in his throat, accompanied by the tight squeeze of his hand.

It thrilled Oswald to see the change come over the other man. Only he could was able to see his entire demeanor shift slowly from the careful, somewhat subservient gentleman that acted as his chief of staff to the dangerous, dominant man that Oswald craved when they were alone. Being with Ed had awakened something inside of the small man that he had been entirely unaware of before; a desire to bend, to serve, to obey.

“That could be it.” Oswald responded noncommittally, a little smirk crossing his lips. 

Once they got to the middle of the minimally furnished room, he turned to face him, one hand sliding up his chest to take hold of his tie. Edward's hand shot up to wrap around his, holding it there. Lifting his head, the smirk faded from his lips as he regarded his man. Edward's eyes were dark behind his glasses, staring down at Oswald's face. Heart beginning to race instantly, he let go of the tie, allowing his hands to be moved back to his side.

“Now now... Who said you could touch?” His voice was low and gravelly, fingers tightening around Oswald's hand.

“I- I'm sorry.” Oswald returned, aware of but uncaring about how pitiful he sounded.

“I'll forgive it this once, because we're just beginning. But you remember the rules, don't you?” Edward moved one pace forward, forcing Oswald back until the crook of his knee hit the bed in the center of the room.

“Yes, I remember.” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to restrain his excitement.

“Are you sure? Because you're breaking one again.” Ed snapped, hands moving to Oswald's shoulders and pressing down; he folded easily, pliant as paper as he sank to his knees. 

“I'm sorry, Sir.” Oswald lowered his head.

Edward's presence over him was ominous, long fingers sliding up the side of his neck and up into his hair. His head was yanked back, eyes shooting back open. A healthy, if unnecessary fear slid up his spine; each time he relinquished his hard-won power to Ed, it terrified him. But there was no other person he could trust to see him this way, no other person he would allow to see him this way.

“That's better. But just so I can be sure you remember, I want you to recite the rules for me.” Ed slapped his cheek lightly, almost affectionately, palm cupping his cheek.

“Very well, Sir. The first rule is simple... I must speak only when addressed, and address you as Sir. The second rule is that I will always come to the play room of my own will, dressed how Sir desires as specified at the end of every session. The third rule is that I must always remember that when we are in the play room, I am no longer Oswald Cobblepot, mayor and kingpen... In the play room, I am an extension of Sir's desires, and will obey his commands as they are given.” Oswald tried to keep the stutter out of his voice, though he found it difficult to do so with Edward's thumb tracing his lips.

“Very good. I'm almost willing to overlook your little blunder from before... almost. I haven't decided yet.” Edward smirked. He reached into his pocket and removed from it a simple leather collar, fastening it with ease around the small man's neck. A formal symbol that the scene had begun. With that, Edward stepped back.

The sudden loss of his support and warmth almost caused Oswald to drop down a bit, but he maintained his position. He hadn't been instructed to move, so he simply sat there, awaiting his command. Edward began to pace, hands clasped behind his back, face devoid of expression. Oswald sat on the line between anxious and excited. The mindset was a difficult one to get into, one that overrode his basic instincts. There was nothing natural to Oswald about letting someone command him unopposed, even less so when he had no ulterior motive to being commanded. He had always relied solely on himself for survival, and so putting his life in the hands of his lover was the ultimate show of faith. The surrender was as much emotional as it was physical.

Edward's pacing ceased abruptly, dark eyes once again centering on the small man on the floor.

“Stand up.” 

Oswald rose shakily to his feet, maintaining eye contact. That was an unspoken rule of the room; when facing Ed, Oswald was to hold eye contact as well as he could.

“I trust you remember what I told you to wear?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Oswald told him breathily. His hands fidgeted; he knew what command was coming.

“Remove your coat.” Edward stared at him.

Without fanfare or hesitation, Oswald did as told, pulling off the coat. It was elegant, lined with soft black fox fur around the collar. It was a travesty to let it hit the floor, but he did so anyway. A shark's grin crept across Edward's face at the sight of what lay beneath the garment. One hand reached out to draw an invisible line from Oswald's chest to his groin.

“Beautiful. You take instruction so well when you want to, my pet.” Edward practically purred his words. The praise alone was enough to cause Oswald's blood to suddenly run hot, a blush crossing his cheeks.

He wasn't nearly as embarrassed to be wearing the garments as he had been about purchasing them in the first place. Across his torso was a blue brocade corset, steel boning running from top to hem along the sides. It was tied in back as tight as he could manage on his own, per Edward's specifications, creating a gentle curve to the hip that he lacked normally. Straps were built in to the corset, which were clasped to garters holding up the sheer black stockings that covered his legs. Edward's attention had shifted to Oswald's hips, where the strings of the matching panties rested.

“I knew this would be a good look on you. Brocade really does bring out your eyes.” Edward sounded self-satisfied as both hands came to rest on his hips. A touch so gentle in the face of what was to come was disarming. Oswald wanted to reach up and kiss him, but managed to avoid it by biting down on his lower lip hard. The brief, sharp pain served to center him. These sessions were as much about self-control as they were about surrender.

“Turn around with your back towards me.” Edward removed his hands. 

Oswald turned slowly. There was no real fabric covering his pale cheeks, and an amused chuckle from Nygma made his face burn a little brighter. 

“Naughty bird. Those undergarments are very lewd.” He punctuated his words with a firm slap to Oswald's ass, pulling a surprised shout from the smaller man.

“On your knees and bend over the bed.” He demanded; the shout must have irritated him. 

“Yes Sir.” Oswald whispered, dropping to his knees once again, laying his torso and head on the bed. In this position his ruined leg began to ache, but he kept that to himself.

Nothing happened for a moment, and nothing could be heard save for the sound of dress shoes clacking on the cement floor. He tried to get an idea of where Edward was without moving, but it proved unnecessary when the footsteps came closer. He drew in a deep breath as he felt cool leather sliding against his ass.

“Count to five, pet.” Edward's voice was deep and smooth.

“One...” Oswald began, gasping out as the leather slapper was brought down on his bare cheeks. It wasn't too hard, but it stung. 

The second was worse. The impact of the leather against his skin grew more harsh each time. By the fifth, Oswald's hands had fisted in the bedsheets, holding back another shout. Edward laughed behind him, a sound that made him whimper. Was it mocking? Was Edward making fun of him for being in pain? He couldn't bear the thought.

“Good boy. You didn't yell out of turn again, I'm proud. I think we can up the ante a little though. Spread your legs and stay as you are.” 

He nodded mutely, spreading as best as he could; the panties barely held him in place, cock nestled uncomfortably in the light fabric. 

“Lift your leg, little bird.” Edward's voice was surprisingly gentle as he slipped a pillow under Oswald's bad leg, placing a kiss to his cheek before lifting up again.

The small, caring gesture removed any brief concern Oswald had, reaffirming that he was safe with Edward. A little smile crossed his lips even as he felt the next implement of pain slide against the backs of his thighs. This one wasn't new, the feel of the wood against his prickled skin familiar. It was one of Edward's favorite things, a thin cane made of smooth rattan. They had tried a few other materials before, but bamboo had broken across his back and the heavier woods had knocked his breath away.

For a moment Edward teased him with the cane, running it back and forth from the backs of his thighs up over his bottom, humming a soft tune as he did.

“I want to see how many lashes you can take before you lose your composure and cry out the way I like...” Ed purred as Oswald pushed his face into the bed. It was difficult not to squirm under the intensity of the tall man's gaze. “Count out the strokes as they are placed, pet.”

Oswald had barely taken another breath in before the sound of the cane cutting through the air slithered into his ears, accompanied instantly by a fearsome stinging that bloomed into a deep, molten throbbing. Oswald gasped out, the force of the strike having jolted him flush against the bed, face pressed into the bedsheets. The next thing he heard was a disappointed tutting, and his heart sank.

“Didn't I tell you to count?” Edward asked, resting one knee on the bed, unoccupied hand sliding into the black mess of hair. Oswald's head was jerked upright, just enough that he could see the other man's face. Irritation was etched into his features, a frown curling his lips and strong brow furrowed deeply. 

“I'm sorry Sir, please forgive me.” Oswald pleaded softly, fingers gripping the sheets tight. He found himself desperate for Edward's approval, craving his forgiveness in whatever form he chose to give it. Some tiny kernel of himself acknowledged this as a sign that he had truly given himself over to the other man. There, in that tucked away room in the basement of the mansion, he had become something both less and more than himself. He was Edward's little bird, his pet and his toy, an extension of his will down to the basest desires.

“Sorry isn't good enough – to your feet, now!” Edward snapped, releasing his hair and standing himself. Oswald's plea had only served to irritate him further, it seemed. Oswald scrambled to his feet as fast as he could manage, staring up at the taller man. He trembled as he stood upright, partly in anticipation of what punishment he had earned, partially due to the pain of the single cane strike.

“Now, I'm not angry; I just expected more of you, pet. When I tell you to count off lashes I expect it to be done promptly and accurately.” Edward reassured him, the sort of gentle reprimand one might expect from a teacher or mentor. Oswald only nodded slightly, relief washing over him at the reassurance.

“So now I have to punish you properly. I know how much you enjoy the cane so it seems I'll have to put it aside for another time, when you can do what your Sir commands in a prompt manner.” Edward gave a suffered sigh, moving to the wall adjacent to the bed, where several tools and toys hung. 

Oswald expected the punishment. He had not done what Edward wished, and as such, it was Ed's right as the dominant to dole it out. His toes curled on the cold cement floor, avoiding the urge to watch the man examine his toys and open the small cabinet beside them to look through the rest. There was a certain sense of freedom that came with not being in control. Oswald didn't have to concern himself with what came next, or what would be expected of him. Edward took to the role easily in these situations, and all the bird-like man needed to do was to be compliant. 

It helped that pain was healing for him. He had never understood the depths of his masochism before he and Edward began these sessions. It wasn't something inherently sexual for Oswald. It was more about the lasting sensations pain wove into his being. A slap to the skin, the kiss of leather against his back, the press of a knife into yielding flesh; it all set something deep inside him ablaze like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was likely due in large part to the one who inflicted it upon him. The only man he had ever cared for; the only person he had, or would ever love with such fervent intensity. 

“Turn around.” The order brought him out of his thoughts and back into the moment, his obedience to it instantaneous.

Edward moved behind him, and Oswald found his vision obscured as a thick black blindfold was tied around his head. Edward adjusted it, fingers sliding along the bottom and top of the fabric to ensure that Oswald's sight was properly impeded. With a soft chuckle, the other man's hands trailed from cheeks, to chest, to hips, little bolts of electricity hitting every nerve in their path. The desire to lean back into him was strong, but overridden by his desire to obey. He stayed steady, hands at his sides. 

“Let's get this out of the way so it doesn't get ruined.” Ed mumbled behind him, long fingers sliding to the ties of the corset. He made short work of unlacing and removing it, unclasping it from the garters.

Without sight, he was totally reliant on Edward to guide his movements. Instinct made him want reach his arms out to use his hands to guide him, but he clenched his fists to resist. It wasn't up to him now; if Edward wanted him to fall, he would fall. If Edward wanted to lead him directly into the wall, he would go into it without question. But the other man was not cruel; he led him by hand to the bed, pushing him onto it heavily. Stomach first he fell, managing to keep his hands from catching himself.

“Put your arms up over your head.” Edward told him. 

He could hear the clack of dress shoes coming closer. As easily as the corset was removed, Oswald's hands were bound by thick straps attached to the bedposts. His good leg was also strapped aside; Edward never involved Oswald's disfigured leg out of worry of exacerbating the old injury. The clacking moved away for a moment, and then back, long fingers sliding against Cobblepot's bare cheek. Though his eyes were covered and could see nothing but blackness, they slipped shut anyway, content in the face of any tenderness. 

“I hope you remember to count this time.” Edward was close to his ear as he spoke, surprising the small man.

“Yes, Sir... I will, Sir.” Oswald whispered in return.

Suddenly, his ear were covered. He felt something heavy on them, and all noise ceased to be. Darkness and stillness became his world as he lay prone on the bed. His emotions began to race rapid-fire through his mind, the only sound the beating of his own heart in his throat. What was Ed doing? Was he leaving him there? Minutes began to tick by at slower than a crawl. Was this his punishment? To be left with nothing but his own intrusive thoughts? No. Ed wouldn't do that to him. Would he? 

Then he felt something. Something smooth along his spine, with a texture he didn't recognize. Was it a flogger? The sensation caused goosebumps to rise all along the path. He wanted to ask what it was, what Ed was doing, but he had already slipped up and been accidentally obedient more than once that session. 

He couldn't help the gasp that escaped as the thing reached the base of his neck and began its descent back down. Heat slid down with it, trailing out from his spine like tiny fingers. Wax; when did Edward light candles? The feeling was more erotic then it was painful, the deprivation of his senses adding to the pleasure. The wax began a different pattern after a moment, sprinkled like drops of lava across his pale skin, pulling a soft moan from his lips. This continued for some time, his back and senses both muddied with pleasure and ache. It was almost overwhelming.

 

When it stopped, it came only after one particularly heavy splash of heat against his lower back, and then ceased entirely. Again Oswald was left alone with his thoughts. It was impossible to gauge the movement of time, heart beginning to pound in his chest and his ears. He shifted a little in the restraints, biting his lip. And then, another touch; this time with something rough dragging along his left arm and down to his back. What was this? 

The answer was made abundantly clear as sharp, intense pain shot through his shoulder blades. It was a whip, one with many tails that snapped the wax from his skin with ease. 

“O-one!” Oswald remembered this time to count out despite his surprise, but there was no reward to come.

Another crack, bolts of lightning carving out their places on his back.

“Two!” Oswald cried out immediately. It stopped for a moment, and he felt his hand squeezed by the soft fingers of his lover. He squeezed twice in return; it was Ed's way of checking in to make sure he was okay. They had an established safe word, but the other man knew Oswald was too proud to use it. The moment the second squeeze was given, the hand was removed, his discipline renewed.

Another strike was landed, and another after that, and then more still. Oswald's back was on fire, throbbing in places, burning in others, but he kept count. The blindfold quickly soaked up the tears that crept out from clenched eyelids. The pain was so fierce that it made him salivate through gritted teeth, but the throbbing quickly brought another feeling out.

Clarity. Purity. Every worry he had as Oswald was no more. Every mental pain he had suffered was drowned in physical pain so rich and unsullied that it ceased to exist. He knew nothing aside from the lick of the whips tails wrapping around his tender, broken skin, felt nothing but pulsating adrenaline as his mind closed off higher functions in order to protect itself from the onslaught. It was nearly beyond comprehension to Oswald how exquisite the feeling was, body shaking as he sobbed and counted off. 

Nothing existed but him and Edward.

Nothing but Edward. The whip may as well have been part of him with how deftly he handled it. Though he could hear nothing, Oswald imagined the sounds it made as it sliced through the air, the impact against his fragile skin. He was purified through his lover's ministrations, set free from a reality that served only to wound his soul at every turn.

The strikes were rapid for a time, and tapered off slowly.

The final count was forty. 

Oswald could only imagine the state of his back after forty lashes, but he didn't care at that moment. Euphoria had engulfed him, and he writhed lightly against the bed, whimpering. His fists clenched and unclenched, body pressed hard into the mattress. For a few moments, he simply basked in it, barely conscious of the fact that his arms and leg were being unbound. 

His body was pulled from the bed, and his ears uncovered. 

“You did so good.” Edward, beautiful Edward's silky voice was the first thing he heard. Oswald could only smile. 

Across Ed's lap he was placed, face up; his back burned against the other man's legs, but he didn't mind. 

“So, so good.” The scientist purred, stroking the mayor's chest like one would a favored pet.

The blindfold was untied but left in place so that the light did not shock his eyes. It filtered in slowly from the top and bottom of the fabric, and after a moment Edward removed it entirely. Oswald looked into his eyes; they were wide and dark. His hair was a mess atop his head, and he rocked slightly with Oswald against him. He glanced down only long enough to see a short knife held in hand. His entire look was slightly... unhinged, but the smaller man was not jarred. He had seen it before, and would see it many more times.

The blade was drawn along Oswald's bare chest, but not pressed in. A shiver rolled through his body at the sight and the feeling, knowing that at any moment it could be plunged into his vitals; that it could end him entirely. A tear slipped from the corner of his eyes, but he kept his line of sight focused on Edward.

Back and forth the blade was stroked along his skin, the sharp edge pressed faintly every now and again to draw paper thin scratches into Oswald's pallid skin. When it reached his chest a third time, a smile graced Edward's face, and in sank the tip of the blade slowly. Oswald gasped out, eyes wide – but the cut was small and the crimson blossom that welled up from it was minor. 

“You fascinate me, little bird. How you trust me so implicitly when you know that I could end you at any moment. Sometimes I wish I knew what it was like to surrender oneself so completely...” As Edward spoke to him, he drew the tip of the blade down Oswald's torso. He moaned out, fingers balling into fists.

The taper of the wound directed the blood flow in a steady line down from his chest to his belly. The cut of a surgeon and a murderer, careful and precise. Edward was meticulous in everything he did. He knew where to cut to avoid veins and arteries, how deep to go, how to arch the blade. It was almost poetic, Oswald mused passively as another slice was carved out.

It matched the first, curving up towards his collar and then back down towards his bellybutton in the opposite direction. 

Dual question marks, forming a macabre heart on his chest.

Edward smiled as he admired his handiwork, tossing the knife to the side.

“I don't think I could do it with as much grace and poise as you, though.” He leaned up to kiss Oswald's lips gently, lifting the other man up slightly to take the pressure off his back. As he spoke, Edward's fingers dipped into the blood on his chest and swirled little patterns on his swollen skin. The other hand slinked up carefully to remove the collar from Oswald's neck.

Released from his role, the smaller man brought a hand up to cup Edward's cheek, returning the kiss in full.

“Now let's get you cleaned up, hm?” Edward chuckled.

“Mmm, yes.” Oswald agreed. 

He could still feel every bit of what was done to him during their session, which meant much movement would be difficult for him. He didn't have to worry that much, though; Edward was nothing if not attentive. Throughout the next hour the small man laid on his side on the bed while his man tended to his wounds, cleaning, applying salves, and bandaging where needed. He was re-dressed in the change of clothing that was kept in the room, a light, simple robe that wouldn't press on any of the hurting bits.

Oswald's head was still swimming from their jaunt; it was almost like being drunk, but without the inherent dizziness. Few thoughts filtered through his mind, and those that made it centered around Edward. The care he showed juxtaposed against the brutality he was capable of. The control he demanded versus the almost reverent way he cared for Oswald's injuries. He was remarkable.

It wasn't long before he felt himself lifted once again, carried like a bride out of the playroom and up the stairs. The world was fuzzy, time passed in a way that was anything but clear. He was sure he dozed off once or twice on the way to the bedroom, but when he came to Edward was sitting on the bed, holding a cup.

“You should drink some water before you sleep, Ozzie. We have a long day tomorrow; I wouldn't want you waking up dehydrated.” He said softly as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Mechanically, Oswald did so, fighting to stay awake. It was a battle he lost halfway through the glass.

–

The next day proved to be trying for Oswald. He woke up stiff and sore despite Edward's careful treatment. His meals tasted bland, and even his favorite wine was to be a disappointment at lunch time. He had several meetings with different members of the city board that day, and not a one of them was productive in anything but gaining his ire. He canceled the rest after the one o'clock meeting, of which he could not remember a single detail aside from the secretary wearing an obnoxiously loud blouse that offended Oswald to his core.

In the rare moments they could be alone for any amount of time, Oswald felt uncomfortable around his chief of staff. He didn't understand why, when they had shared such intimacy the night before. He couldn't bring himself to even look at him. Was he ashamed, for some reason? It didn't make any sense to him. They had done these things before, many times.

Oswald blamed it on the weather. It was a gloomy, rainy day, and he was always irritable on rainy days.

“Oswald... Are you okay?” Ed asked during one of their stolen moments.

“I'm perfectly fine.” He insisted.

“You don't seem fine, if you don't mind me saying...” Edward's brows were furrowed, voice heavy with concern.

“I do mind. Don't make assumptions about how I feel, hm? Let's just get through the day, shall we? The sooner I'm home and away from these idiots the better.” Oswald snapped, arms folding over his chest.

“I - - very well. But please, if there's anything you need, let me know.” The concern only became more prevalent as Edward brought a hand forward to cup his cheek briefly.

Oswald pulled away without a word. All he wanted was to go home and rest. Even getting out of bed had been such a chore with his body aching the way it did. He had wanted it yesterday, through and through... but now he didn't know why. Each time he moved his hips it sent sharp pains through his torso.

Perhaps it was just the reality of how shameful he had become that brought him down. Such deplorable behavior he exhibited in the home where his own father had passed away. His parents must be turning in their graves. The thought of them sent a pang of hurt careening from the depths of his heart; he brought a hand up to his chest as if the ache was something physical that he could quell with a touch.

Somewhere around supper time Edward gently took him by the wrist and leaned in, placing a tender, long kiss to his temple. Oswald's eyes slipped shut.

“What, Edward?” He muttered it, but did not fight the man.

“Let's go home. I moved your schedule around so we have nothing else to do.” Edward insisted softly. 

Oswald blinked in confusion, looking up at the man. Why had he done that? Working was the only thing that would keep his mind off of his own depravity, the only thing that would keep him from sinking to those lows again. In spite of this line of thought, he found himself walking at Edward's side as he was led to the car, hand resting in the crook of his arm.

The car ride home was a blur; Edward put the radio on low, something classical and melodic and kept the heat on just warm enough to be comfortable. He didn't attempt to make conversation, clearly aware of Oswald's poor mood. Every now and then the other man's hand made its way to Cobblepot's thigh to give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Oswald mustered a smile each time. 

When they arrived, Edward parked and was out of the car within a moment, running to Oswald's side to open his door. Rather gracious of him, Oswald thought absently as he moved to step out. 

“I'm going to whip us up a quick dinner when we get in, okay?” Edward told him.

“Why are you acting so delicate all of a sudden?” Oswald was suspicious, but too tired to place any real venom in his voice.

“Because sometimes delicacy can be nice. Especially after last night. I want to take care of you, Ozzie.” Edward smiled down at him as he opened the door to the manor for him.

“You're being very peculiar. I don't know how I feel about it.” Oswald huffed as he walked in, leaning heavily on his favorite cane.

He didn't have the heart to tell Edward he just wanted to be left alone. To curl up with a nice bottle of bourbon and drink until his brain shut off. His head was already a fuzzy haze, it shouldn't take too much to obtained the desired effect. The thought of dinner made his stomach turn.

“That's okay. I'm used to people not knowing how to feel about me. Have a seat, I'll get the fire going.” Edward placed a kiss to his temple, moving to the fireplace. 

In a past life Nygma must have been an arsonist. Oswald could never get it going as easily as Ed did, but he always appreciated it. There was something comforting about a fireplace. Gentle, ambient light, a heat that wasn't overpowering, the smell of crackling wood. He closed his eyes as he sat, just listening to it while Edward did whatever Edward felt was necessary. As long as he was leaving him alone to focus on this sudden misery it was fine.

He couldn't pinpoint a reason for his feelings. It had never happened before. All of their previous encounters had left him soaring for days after. Had something broken within him? Was he somehow being haunted by the spectres of that house, shaming him for his deviancy? It was a ridiculous thought, but the ridiculous was possible in Gotham. He had done worse in that home anyway, why would this bring out the wrath of dead van Dahls?

Shaking his head, Oswald stared into the fire. His back tingled as he watched the flames dance, memories of the hot wax being struck from his shoulder blades still fresh in his mind. His hedonism would be the death of him.

His thoughts continued on that path for some time before he felt a presence at his side; Edward had returned. 

With him he had brought far too many things to carry easily; around one shoulder there was a canvas bag. Around his shoulders was a large robe. In his arms he carried a large platter full of various foods, a tea pot, and several cups. Under his arm was a square box of whose nature Oswald was unsure. Oswald leaned up, frowning softly.

“Ed, do you need help?” 

“No, no. You just stay there, let me do it.” He insisted, carefully dropping to a knee to place the platter down on the coffee table. 

On the side table the box was placed, and the bag on the floor. Ed remained there, on the floor, looking up at the other man.

“I brought you a robe... I noticed your pants got wet from the rain, and your shoes likely soaked through as well. May I?” He looked to the mayor, face soft and warm in the firelight.

“May you... what, Ed?” Oswald looked at him, unsure of what he wanted.

“Undress you, re-dress your wounds. Take care of you in general.” He chuckled a little, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I don't see why you want to so badly but I'm too tired to protest.” Oswald muttered, trying his best not to be petulant with Edward being so... attentive.

“I was counting on that.” He gave his most charming smile, and got to work.

Each movement Edward took towards him was caring and tender. He removed his shoes and socks first, setting them aside neatly. Oswald helped with the rest, slowly shrugging out of his clothing until only undergarments remained. He didn't like being so exposed, ever, but he knew he was in good hands with Edward. His back and chest were treated and re-bandaged meticulously with supplies from the canvas bag. Whatever Edward had smoothed into his wounds made his body tingle and relax.

“And now for the robe...” Edward stood up and helped him into it before guiding him back to the couch. 

He once again dropped to his knees, looking up at Oswald from his spot at his feet. 

“May I?” He placed a hand on his foot. Oswald was clueless.

“... Ed. I have no idea what you want to do, please speak clearly. Don't do anything weird with my feet. You know I don't like them.” Oswald frowned.

“I'll show you, and tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” 

Oswald sighed, leaning back against the cushions. Edward began to rub his left foot, thumbs smoothing a firm line up the center before working on the pads of his feet. Oswald's eyes widened; he'd never had anyone touch his feet before, and this was... a new feeling. New, but not unpleasant. At some points it hurt a little, but there was tension in them that he was unaware he carried in the first place. After a few moment, he switched to the other foot, more careful with this one given the leg injury that caused his awkward gait. He found his eyes slipping shut, a pleased moan filtering through the silence of the room. 

“I can't stand the thought of anyone touching my feet normally... but that feels wonderful.” Oswald told him. 

“Good. How are you feeling, in general?” Edward asked, looking up as those wonderful fingers pinpointed each minuscule knot.

“I've just felt wrong all day. Heavy and achy. Usually the ache doesn't bother me in the slightest, but today it was too much to bear easily. I don't understand why; usually after... nights like ours, I feel phenomenal.” Oswald confessed. That was probably part of Edward's plan; to finally suss out the reason for Oswald's snippy disposition that day.

“Well... Chemically, it sort of makes sense. Last night you experienced what I can only assume was an incredible spike in your endorphin levels; it must have sort of depleted all those happy little hormones. It could be what has you so down. Have you felt depressed, at all?” Edward looked up to him as he spoke. Oswald merely nodded. “Well, that's okay. It's normal. I'll just pamper you until you feel better. Sound good?”

“I've never been opposed to being babied.” Oswald chuckled a little. Edward's insistence on looking out for him was endearing, and warmed him inside just a little.

“Perfect.” Ed shifted to sit on the couch.

The box he had carried was a small record player which took little time to set up. Soon, the silky contralto of Billie Holiday was playing in the background. She had always been one of Oswald's favorite songstresses, her distinctive voice and tragic life speaking to him on a personal level. Ed pulled his legs into his lap, leaning over to take up a mug, looking to the smaller man.

“I made hot chocolate... There's Irish cream in it.” He smiled, offering out a cup.

Out of all of his gestures, this one was the one, for some reason, that struck Oswald the most. The man had gone out of his way to do all of this for him simply because he had been in a bad mood. Taking the mug, Oswald inhaled the scent, body melting against the cushions. What had he done to deserve such consideration?

“You're too good to me, Eddie. Cocoa, a fire, Billie, a foot rub... What did I do? Is it our anniversary?” Oswald actually giggled a little, sipping the cocoa.

“No, that isn't for another six months, two weeks and three days. You're always looking out for me, why shouldn't I do the same for you? Besides... I've always liked spoiling those who matter to me. And no one has ever mattered as much as you.” Edward always spoke with such sincerity.

“I love you, Eddie. Truly.” Oswald hated himself for tearing up at his words, but he had always been a sentimentalist.

“And I love you.” Ed returned, bringing two fingers to his lips, kissing them, then pressing the fingers to Oswald's lips.

Oswald just laughed as his earlier ruminations faded away, replaced by cheerful wisps of question mark shaped joy.


End file.
